Jilt and a Jig
by Rose Eclipse
Summary: In which the people of colonial Burgess have a disagreement over literature and Jack takes to wooing. One-shot.


Early spring had come to Burgess.

Having spent three long months huddled in a dark schoolroom, the children of the town were now sprawled in luxurious comfort on the lawn. Many were barefooted and wiggling their toes freely in the fresh damp grass. The girls had removed bonnets from their heads and were shaking out their hair. It was almost midday and the sun had gotten strong enough to warm you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

Reverend Smith was perched upon a smooth gray rock reading _Twelfth Night_ aloud. His young audience did not grasp all the intended puns but they enjoyed listening to his animated rendition of Shakespeare's comic play. It was as good, if not better, than a sermon. In a past life the reverend could have been a performer in Drury Lane.

_"This fellow is wise enough to play the fool,"_ the reverend announced dramatically. _"And to do that well craves a kind of wit. He must observe their mood on whom he-"_

"Reverend Smith!" A shrill female voice interrupted his soliloquy, ruining the peaceful afternoon.

Young heads jerked up and Reverend Smith stopped reading. Eliza Kent came huffing and puffing towards the circle of students. Her round cheeks were red as apples, sweat beaded her upper lip, and her bonnet was tilted at a crooked angle upon her head. It was rare to see Eliza Kent in such a haphazard state. The reverend could hardly guess what had possessed her to run into the meadow in such a hurry.

"Reverend Smith," she repeated as she came to a wheezing halt. "I come on behalf of the good people of Burgess to protest your indecent selection of literature. It is absolutely scandalous!"

"What does 'literature' mean?" little Katherine whispered to her older brother.

"It's a fancy way of saying 'reading'," he whispered back. Jack Fuerst had to suppress a smile because if Mrs. Kent got any more puffed up then she might explode.

One eyebrow cocked up ever so slightly. "Could you please clarify for me what you find so indecent?" the reverend asked in a cool polite voice.

Eliza Kent glared at the leather-bound book in his hands. "Shakespeare indeed!" she spluttered in fury. "His writing poisons the minds of pure innocent children. How can a man of your profession even consider reading it in public?"

"I assure you that I would never display anything that could dampen bright young souls," the reverend protested gently. "Surely you do not disapprove of a change of pace from teaching them brimstone and damnation."

"Those plays are damnation in disguise," she snorted. "They are full of murder, violence, and vice. Women masquerading as men! Stupid imps and drunken brawls! Jesters mocking kings! Brazen youths escaping into the forest to..to…"

She took a deep breath and burst out: "Fornicate in sin!"

A ripple of giggles broke out among the children. Eliza Kent shot them an icy glare that hushed them up at once.

She ranted on. "Not to mention your filling their heads with silly stories out of that new novel _'Sullivan's Travels'_. Tiny people and flying castles, indeed! What utter nonsense."

"_Gulliver's Travels_," he corrected her.

Eliza waved a hand in the air. "Whatever. It _must_ be stopped."

Jack sucked in a sharp breath. The others also looked worried and a bit fearful of Eliza Kent's wrathful arm of influence. For a moment Jack thought Reverend Smith would comply with her wishes.

Slowly, the reverend rose to his feet. He closed his book with the solemnest expression. "Very well, Eliza. If it vexes you so much that I cannot persuade you to reconsider then I will have to comply to your wishes."

"Oh no!" several voices rang out in protest.

"Oh yes," he said. "We shall have no more Shakespeare during our lessons."

Another wave of groans and pleas came out, including a long moan from Jack. Eliza Kent smiled proudly and marched off.

"You can't stop reading them," William Crawford protested. "We love these stories!"

"Aye, and so do I, lad," the reverend said as he stroked the spine of his beloved book. "But we must pick our battles carefully."

He rubbed his chin in thought. "I just gave my word that we won't read plays or novels during educational hours. However," A faint gleam appeared in his eyes. "I said nothing about hours _after_ lessons."

"Hooray!" everyone cried. The reverend resolved not to do anything rash but for now, the stories would be considered a well-earned reward for those who diligently recited their daily verses and hymns. The novel was placed in the bottom of William's basket and covered with apples to avoid being detected. Class was dismissed although several children, including Jack Fuerst, lingered behind.

The reverend was pleased with his day's work. Introducing his young lively pupils to the works of great philosophers, writers, and educators was his way of showing them a world that brimmed with wonder beyond their tiny insulated town. The children were eager listeners who responded with frank remarks and witty questions:

"Do the sun and moon meet each other in the sky while we sleep?"

"Who helps Saint Nicholas prepare all of his toys for Christmas?"

"Why do we have two eyes and two hands but only one mouth?"

"What causes eggs to be tapered at one end instead of round?"

"Where do stars come from? Are they the tears of fallen angels?"

"Can we fly?"

This last remark came, not surprisingly, out of Jack Fuerst's mouth. A few children snickered, including Thomas Kent. Reverend Smith looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Some say that it is a futile concept. And yet Leonardo Da Vinci suggested, in theory, that a man _could_ fly with the assistance of scientific mechanisms."

"But its rubbish," protested Thomas. He threw Jack an ugly look.

"Man cannot swim across an ocean, Thomas. Is it then 'rubbish' to build a boat and sail it through the seas? Is it 'rubbish' to create carriages and mills and printing presses? Man has done many things once considered impossible." Reverend Smith smiled knowingly. "Surely with God's help and mankind's wit, he will do more."

Thomas was not satisfied. "My mother says if men was meant to fly then we would've been born with wings."

"Then we'll make our own wings," Jack shot back.

Not wanting to extend the verbal duel any further, Reverend Smith clapped his hands for attention. "You'd all best get home before your families worry about you."

Thomas slunk off with a dissatisfied growl. The others scampered off too. But Jack merely smoothed his hair and adjusted his sleeves while looking quite pleased with himself. The reverend had seen that expression before and knew he'd see it again.

"Courting requires courtesy," he advised Jack.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the boy said with a smile. A mad light was already burning in Jack's eye as he strode off with a spring in his step.

His teacher sighed in disbelief. The small hand of Katherine Fuerst tugged at his sleeve to get his attention.

"Sir, what does 'fornicate' mean?" she asked.

A-A-A

_"Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow."_

_-_Twelfth Night, Act 3 Scene 4

A-A-A

Burgess had no goddesses, queens, or muses. It had Mary.

Young Miss Mary Mooreland was not exceedingly tall or striking. Her hands were coarse as her starched aprons. But she did have thick black hair, a proud chin, large gray eyes, and a mouth shaped like a crescent moon. She had unintentionally bewitched every boy in Burgess.

Naturally they tormented her wherever she went.

They'd tug at her hair, toss pebbles at her back, poke her with sticks, fleck leaves in her face, anything to get her attention. Some would even chant a rhyme when she walked by:

_"Mary the maiden was fine and fair _

_With her moon-lit eyes and long dark hair."_

It vexed her to no end. One by one she had driven them off with cutting remarks and stormy glares. Once Mary even hissed like a snake at William, who ran off in terror. Her mother advised her to behave more civilly in public. Mary just pursed up her lips in defiance. And yet they still sang of "_Mary the maiden_" who could be fine and fair when she chose to be until a particular person crossed her path.

On this day Mary was feeling fair indeed. Birds were nesting in Burgess again and tiny buds of yellow and lavender were growing in the meadows. She walked to the town well to get some water, swinging her bucket and humming softly to herself. The lass had just unhooked her full bucket from the rope when someone leaped out from behind the other side of the well and burst into her face.

"BOO!"

Mary shrieked right on schedule. Neither of them had expected the bucket to react so well to human reflexes and in an instant, Jack and Mary were sopping wet.

She smacked the front of her gray frock in frustration. "Jack!" she fumed. The tips of her ears were already red with rage.

He was doing his best to suppress the giggles but not doing it very well. "I'm sorry, Mary," Jack chuckled. He offered her a hand. "Call it pax?"

"Hmmph." She ignored his offer and reached for the bucket. Jack picked it up first.

"Honestly, Mary. I didn't mean for you to get all wet," he insisted. "Let me help you."

He drew her a fresh pail and handed it to her as gallantly as possible. "Your water, m'lady."

Mary took the bucket from Jack and without another word, marched off into the street with her nose thrust high enough into the air that she could barely see the ground. Jack followed her as if trailing the Pied Piper.

"I don't know why you're so upset when your dress will dry out."

"I'm not angry that I'm wet. I'm furious because you are a scoundrel who likes to play tricks on people," Mary accused him.

Jack seemed pleased with her remark. "I like to do other things for fun too. Didn't you know we're having a dance tonight?"

Mary exhaled sharply through her nostrils. "Of course I do. The entire village will be attending."

"Aren't you going to ask me who I'll be going with?"

"No." She gave a little toss of her head. "And even if you told me I still wouldn't care."

"Why not?"

"Because a lady never meddles in a man's personal matters," she recited primly.

"Good!" Jack stepped in front of Mary to block her. "Then I can tell you anyhow."

"Tell me what?"

"That I'm planning to dance with the prettiest girl in the town." He gave her the most impish grin he could muster and held her gaze until the message was received and understood.

"Oh!" Mary gasped in astonishment. She hadn't expected to be courted so openly and his remark sent her emotions into a flutter. A flush of pink crept across her face and her eyes grew wide as full moons.

"Think I'll be lucky?" he said at last.

He looked so winsome that moment that Mary felt compelled to accept his offer. She was about to soften her expression when pride pricked her conscience. Who was Jack to think a few sweet words could sweep Mary off her feet and into his arms? The nerve of that boy. What cheek! Well, butter wouldn't melt in _her_ mouth! She threw back her shoulders and looked him straight in the face.

"That depends on your idea of luck, Jack. Because I have no intention of dancing with the stupidest boy in the world!" Mary snapped.

She stormed off, boots making snapping sounds as they stomped across dried twigs. Jack was not dejected. He merely dropped to one knee and clasped his hands to his chest.

"_Mary the maiden was fine and fair,"_ he recited. Then he got up and walked off while whistling a jaunty tune.

A-A-A

_"She walks in beauty, like the night_

_Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_

_And all that's best of dark and bright_

_Meet in her aspect and her eyes;_

_Thus mellowed to that tender light_

_Which heaven to gaudy day denies."_

-"She Walks in Beauty" by Lord Byron

A-A-A

Mary had scrubbed her face and hands until they were pink. Then she put on her best dress, a simple blue wool that was adequate for a cool April night. She brushed her hair with one hundred strokes until it snapped and crackled. The first of the spring blossoms were little white star-shaped flowers called "Glory of the snow" that had diligently been braided them into her hair. She went off to the great hall feeling fine and fresh as a budding rose.

The large room was already packed with people dancing, talking, and swapping tales. With so many people jammed into the town hall and a roaring fire at one end, it felt hot as mid-summer compared to outside. Mary drew a hand across her brow before a trickle of sweat could appear. She spotted a few of the other girls packed into a tightly-knit circle and whispering fiercely to each other.

She smiled and waved to them. But they only gave her sly smiles and went back to talking among themselves.

A stab of coldness pierced Mary's chest. Why were her friends shunning her? Had they seen her scorn Jack?

She made her way across the room, careful not to tread upon dancers' toes, before finding refugee on an oak bench. Mary sat down and watched the merriment go on for another ten minutes. Then half an hour passed. Boys and girls tugged each other at the wrists, swing each other around, and whispered sweet nothings in each others ears. Nobody gave her so much as a glance. Not one!

_Perhaps they all heard how I behaved_, she thought unhappily. _I didn't mean to be so rude to him. But he does try one's patience! _

A fresh reel had started up. Several people were roaring with laughter over a joke. Nothing else changed.

Remorse was already warming its way into Mary's heart. _Maybe I can apologize to him public_, she added hopefully. _That could fix things._ But Jack was nowhere in sight and evening was almost halfway over.

Unknowing to Mary, Thomas Kent was responsible for her neglect.

He had tried to steal a kiss from Mary three days ago but she detested him even more than Jack. He threw stones at birds for fun, the heartless boy! Mary responded with a slap to his face. Spurned by her actions, Thomas had had his revenge by spreading a nasty rumor to all of the other boys. Now they shunned her like the plague. The sight of pretty Mary Mooreland sitting forsaken in a corner made him smug with satisfaction.

_Serves the wench right_, Thomas gloated.

Everybody else was engulfed in happiness while Mary sat there like a statue: prim, proper, and invisible. The chilly void in her chest grew bigger while her face felt hot with shame. She had vowed not to disgrace herself by crying in public but had to look down at her shoes to avoid it. Just as she felt tears brimming in her eyes, a shadow came over Mary. She looked up in bewilderment to see who had approached her.

Jack was standing in front of Mary with an open hand. There was no pride or malevolence in his face. Not a word of rebuke crossed his lips. His warm brown eyes were kind and gentle, forgiving and eagerly awaiting her response.

A surge of gratitude washed over her. Mary put her hand in his and rose to her feet with as much gracefulness as she could muster. Then Jack escorted her to the center of the room. He clasped a hand behind his back and bowed at the waist while she bobbed a deep curtsy.

The fiddlers picked up their bows and the pipers wet their lips for the next song. The familiar tune of Kemp's Jig materialized into the air and quickly wove itself around the room.

Feet leaped up and down in the air in time to the pipes' merry melody. Couples moved forward, backwards, around each other, and wove in-and-out of a circle. The music repeated itself in their heads with easy instructions: Heel to toe, then toe to heel. Clap three times and spin like a wheel. Mary felt the heat of Jack's palms pressed against her hands as they swung around in formation, danced to one end of the hall, and then skipped back as fast as they could.

He was laughing and leaping with the energy of a rabbit and his eyes were flecked with golden light. Jack's merriness was contagious and soon Mary had forgotten her troubles. She picking up her skirts with one hand, linked an arm around Jack's elbow, and they twirled in a circle nearly dizzy with delight.

By the time the song had ended most of the flowers had fallen out of Mary's hair. Jack's brow glistened with perspiration but he was still beaming bright as ever. Nor did he neglect to give her another bow. Of course she curtsied back as graciously as any princess could do for a prince. They both stood up and applauded for the musicians who had made the festivities come to life that night.

Surely there had been a glittering ball in a stately castle somewhere else in the world that night. But nobody could have enjoyed a dance more than that mischievous youth and his blue-clad companion.

A-A-A

_"The sky above us showed_  
_An universal and unmoving cloud,_  
_On which, the cliffs permitted us to see_  
_Only the outline of their majesty,_

_As master-minds, when gazed at by the crowd!_  
_And, shining with a gloom, the water grey_  
_Swang in its moon-taught way."_

-"A Seaside Walk" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

A-A-A

A pebble hit the window of the Mooreland house. Mary bolted up out of bed, fearing the appearance of a burglar. But it was Jack's face in the window. She put a finger to her lips but he would not be easily driven off. He rapped the glass with his knuckles.

Mary quickly slid her feet into her shoes and wrapped a shawl around herself. She tiptoed out the door so as not to wake her sleeping family. Jack was crouched behind the woodpile.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered. "It must be close to midnight."

"It is." She could even feel him smirking in the darkness. He took her by the hand. "Come with me."

"Wait, where are we going?"

"You'll see."

She dug her heels into the ground in protest. "You're not going to push me into the river, are you?"

"Of course not. I promise," he assured her. Feeling Mary's uneasiness, Jack drew closer to her. "Trust me."

Something about the way he said this, or how the words seemed stuck in his throat, moved her. Mary allowed him to lead her by the hand into the forest. They went quickly and quietly as two woodland sprites, Jack leading the way over a fallen log and under narrow branches.

At last they stopped at a clearing on the edge of the meadow. Mary lifted her eyes up and felt her breath get caught in her throat.

The moon was a crisp disc, full and bright above them like a silver coin. It beamed down on them and rimmed the trees with a gray aura. The sky was a magic carpet of velvet that glimmered with stars and was threaded with clouds. There was a stillness in the air, an aura of wonder that descended upon the night and left them gaping in awe as if this moment had been prepared especially for them.

Mary sank into the grass. "Beautiful," she murmured aloud.

"I know you'd like it." Jack plunked himself down beside her. He pointed to the moon. "Don't you see there's a face watching us?"

She shook her head but Jack persisted. "If you look closely then you'll see the moon has two eyes, a nose, and a mouth just like us."

"Oh Jack, that's not possible."

"Mary, just look!"

She sealed her lips and studied the moon carefully. Gradually, Mary could see the craters on the surface forming the features. With a little stretch of the imagination one could almost see the cheery face looking down on them.

"Do you see it now?" he asked.

She nodded. Pleased with himself, Jack asked for nothing more. They sat in silence for a few moments, two young souls honored to be in the presence of the moon's nocturnal kingdom. The wind rustled across the treetops and crickets chirped as they basked in the new world.

"I wonder if the moon is lonely," Jack said at last.

"Lonely?" Mary repeated. She was about to say it was silly to talk like that. But she didn't want to sound like Eliza Kent.

"It's different being down here. We have people, trees, animals, lakes, oceans, mountains..." His voice trailed off. "But moon is far up in the sky without anybody else to talk to."

His comment challenged Mary to think hard for a moment. "The sky isn't a lonely place to be," she insisted. "It's always changing. There's stars, clouds, wind, and storms-oh, and birds too!" she added brightly.

A laugh escaped his lips. "I guess you're right."

"Unless you were trying to get me to talk nonsense," she cautioned.

"You'd still be right."

They lay on the backs and starred up the stars. Another gust of wind rustled through the grass.

"Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"I was thinking about what you said to Reverend Smith the other day. Would you really want to fly?"

"Of course! It would be wonderful. Just think about being way up above everyone's heads, high enough to touch the clouds. Wouldn't you grab the chance, Mary?"

"I don't know," she admitted hesitantly. "It sounds dangerous to be up in the air without anything to hold onto."

He rolled over onto his stomach. "I could build a machine like Da Vinci. Or steal Saint Nicholas' sleigh."

Mary was mortified. "Jack, you wouldn't!" she protested. "Even if you could, where would you fly to?"

"Everywhere. Every home and hearth where he goes for Christmas. If he could do it then why not me?" Jack insisted.

"Good luck finding Saint Nicholas at this time of year."

"I will." He added, "Would you come with me?"

The question stopped Mary short. She pulled a few blades of grass out of the earth as a distraction. Sensing her uncertainty, Jack leaned closer to her.

"I'd never let you fall," he murmured into her ear. "I promise." His words swirled around her with the wind, whipping strands of hair across her face. It was so quiet that he could almost hear her breathing.

Mary didn't answer the question. She simply rose to her feet. "I have to get back home," she announced rather stiffly.

Jack sighed with reluctance but did his duty to escort her back. Fortunately the lights were still out so their missing time would not go noticed by the Moorelands. Mary did not enter the house straight away but lingered in the doorway for a moment.

"Jack?"

She ran a hand through her hair and found one tiny snow flower still caught in it. She took a step closer to Jack until their noses were almost touching and offered it to him. His hand reached out for the flower if it was a precious gem until their fingertips touched.

Perhaps it was the influence of the moon's magic that had settled upon Burgess that night. Perhaps it was the effect after a lovely night of dancing followed by a surprise visit to the meadow. But either way, there was no account for what Mary did next that was quite contrary to her usual nature.

She placed a hand upon Jack's shoulder and rising on her toes, gently pressed her lips to his cheek. A lock of dark hair brushed against his skin. A moonbeam darted through a passing cloud and fell upon the lad's face, which had lighten up as bright as a newly-formed star.

Then Mary lowered her feet back to the ground. No words needed to be said as she carefully lifted the latch of the door and stepped inside, shutting it softly behind her.

Jack danced a jig all the way home, unaware that his parents were still up. His father was smoking by the fire when Jack attempted to tiptoe into the house. His mother nearly dropped her knitting needles and got to her feet when she saw her firstborn son on the threshold.

"Where on earth have you been?" Edward Fuerst nearly bellowed at his son. He had endure one too many of his son's good-intended schemes but damn and blast it, this had gone too far. "You've been gone almost an hour and I thought you might have run into the wolves or tripped in a stream!"

"Oh my," his mother murmured. She had taken one look at beaming Jack's face and knew what it was. She quickly whispered something into Edward's ear. The wrinkles on his brow suddenly smoothed away and his eyes widened.

Then he pointed his pipe at Jack. "See here, Jack. I don't mind if one day you decide to go all the way to England and back, Just let us know before you do!"

Jack grinned away. "Yes, father. I'm sorry if I scared you."

Edward grunted and sat back down. "At least you're home safe and sound. Best get to bed, you scampering squirrel." He ruffled his son's hair to show he was not angry anymore. Jack kissed his mother on the cheek and went into the bedroom.

Edward puffed on his pipe thoughtfully. "Mary Mooreland, eh?" he muttered. "So our son had wooed and won the most stubborn lass in the town. I wondered how he did it."

His wife merely smiled at him. She hummed gently while her knitting needles clicked against each other and the log crackled cheerfully in the fire.

Somewhere in the forest, a tiny green-winged fairy darted forward and flew into a house where a child's tooth lay tucked under a pillow. The ground murmured as a tunnel gradually expanded and gaily-painted eggs rolled to the surface. Threads of golden sand streamed from the clouds spread swiftly through windowpanes, spinning pleasant dreams above sleeping heads.

The moon beamed happily down upon the sleepy town of Burgess. All was well that night.

_"A great while ago the world begun,_  
_With a hey, ho, wind and the rain._  
_But that's all one, our play is done,_  
_And we'll strive to please you every day."_

-Feste, "Twelfth Night" by William Shakespeare

END

Author's note: Kemp's Jig was mentioned on the IMDB website for _Rise of the Guardians_ as background music for when Jack Frost first arrives in Burgess. Wikipedia says it was named after William Kempe, a Renaissance actor who was famous for performing in several Shakespeare plays. There are several versions uploaded onto Youtube for public entertainment.

Jonathan Swift's satire story _Gulliver's Travels_ didn't appear until 1726. Devoted fans of this series will pinpoint Jack's death in 1712. I leave it to the creativity of the readers to compensate for the missing years and to allow additional time for Swift's novel to be printed in Great Britain and sent overseas to Reverend Smith's waiting hands.


End file.
